Tag Archives: Asshole

Using Life’s Imperfections Perfectly

can

How about this for a great quote…

Your ability to grow to your highest potential is directly related to your willingness to act in the face of imperfection. You will come to succeed not by finding a perfect moment, but by learning to see and use life’s imperfections perfectly.

Isn’t that awesome? I tripped over it on the way around my virtual stomping grounds a couple of days ago, and it struck me as useful, but I needed to play around with it a bit in my head before its meaning sort of morphed into something I can really relate to.

Shall I paraphrase in plain old Yorkshire speak? I’ve interpreted it to mean stop dicking around using the excuse of I can’t, because…instead, say I’m going to, even though [insert whichever bump in road here]. Adopt that approach and you’ve cracked it.

Today’s particular bump in the road was all tied into the fundraising efforts of me and my four colleagues who are trekking 90 miles across the Escambray mountain range in Cuba, to raise money for our chosen charities. We decided that we would run a bake sale in the office, and over the last week or so we’ve been busy recruiting bakers from around the various departments. Today was the day, and there was much anticipation.

In my car, on the way to work I was sat beside three airtight containers, one holding flapjack (my favourite), one holding chocolate brownies (my favourite) and the third one containing baked raisin and oatmeal cookies. My favourite. The Asshole voice was almost apoplexic. You can’t put those on the table and sell them if you haven’t tasted them, come on they might not be nice! What will people think! You at least have to try one of each. It’s a necessity, it certainly doesn’t mean you’ve cheated on your diet.

Remember, I have a near 50 mile commute…that’s a lot of time to spend trapped and alone in the car with the Asshole voice, where nobody would see if I caved in and plundered the boxes, right? I was so busy mentally calculating how many smart points might be in each, and getting stuck on the sums that by some miracle I made it safely into the car park without consuming so much as a crumb. I’m here to tell you it was a very close call.

The actual bake sale was easy…our bakers had done us proud, and there was an amazing spread. I’ve put it right out there that I’m losing weight to be able to do the trek, so surrounded by words of encouragement, and with the ching-ching of pennies hitting the bottom of the collecting tin as folk lined up to choose their cake, I could hardly be seen face-planting into any of the baking could I..? I might have licked my finger from time to time when I was helping to clear up afterwards but in the grand scheme of things I consider that a victory.

Trouble is, not all the cookies were sold, so they came home with me. My boy will vaporize them over the weekend and to be honest I’m over my wobble…in reality if I was going to have a treat, it wouldn’t be cookies. I actually cut myself a slice of carrot cake to bring home, and I’ve wildly over-estimated the smart points value, so I will have that after supper, and I will enjoy every single guilt free mouthful. It looks like heaven on a plate.

What’s more, I can look back and say I did, even though… 🙂

If you haven’t read about my trek to Cuba, and you’d like to understand more about why I’m passionate about getting fit enough to be able to honour my dad’s memory by raising as much money as possible for people affected by mental illness, you can see his story HERE I’m grateful for any support you feel able to give, no matter how small 🙂

 

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In The Company Of My Thoughts

thinkOne of the things I’ve come to value the most from my time spent walking Charlie dog is the time and space it gives me to think. Those of you who’ve followed my journey from the early days won’t be surprised when I say that some of the ways in which my mind connects the dots can be a bit random, but you know time spent on musing even seemingly random stuff occasionally leads to a nugget of insight.

So we’ve just returned from one of our usual circuits of the town. On the way up the hill there were no insights worth a mention, my mind entertained itself quite happily with a succession of interesting topics to ponder, for example if sweat is what it looks like when your fat starts to cry, then my fat is very clearly very upset today because despite it being much cooler outdoors, by the time I got to the top of the hill I was glowing.

Then I got to thinking about where does your fat actually go, when you lose it? I mean, I was looking at a picture on-line this week about what one pound of fat actually looks like, and its big, you know? So if you lose like two pounds a week…where is it now? It’s like it melts away by magic. One week those two pounds of fat are inside my skin, and the next week they’re not.

They just disappear, sneak away like thieves in the night. I go to bed weighing one number, and I wake up weighing a smaller number but nothing went anywhere, right? I must have spend a good ten minutes on that one, in fact I was so absorbed that I’d reached the top of the hill before the Asshole voice had even chipped in with his usual helpful suggestions about the shortcuts we could take every time we passed an opportunity to avoid having to walk right to the top.

And that’s the bit that provided the key to help me unlock today’s useful stuff. It’s the first time that I’ve actually put two and two together and realised that when my mind is occupied, I’m far less open to an approach or a suggestion from the Asshole. Which sounds really obvious but don’t you often find that things stare us in the face and we’re still blind to it?

I have a really low boredom threshold, you know? It’s one of those things that goes hand in hand with an inquisitive mind. When I’m bored I get destructive and my mind leads me into mischief. I’ll give you an example – on Thursday I was involved in doing some recruitment, and one of the candidates lost me in the first five minutes. By the time we’d completed the interview I couldn’t have told you how he’d answered the majority of our questions, even though I’d written down his answers on autopilot.

What I could have told you, was how many times he said the words in terms of during his one hour interview. I was bored, and my mind started fixating on the wrong thing. My in-terms-of ometer leapt into action and I counted them all, with a mental ker-CHING every time he said it. Seventeen in-terms-ofs, if you’re interested. And, don’t even get me started on the four little hairs sprouting from the top of his nose, which I’d have paid good money to tweeze out.

So that’s what I mean…because what he was saying wasn’t holding my attention, my mind wandered off and started poking at stuff it had no business with. And I think the Asshole voice recognises those moments where my mind is suggestible, and that’s when he moves in for the kill.

It’s hardly breaking news, I get that. I’m sure some of you are thinking well yes, so what – eating because you’re bored is a well known thing and you’d be right, it is. I’ve heard plenty of people say that, in fact I’ve more than likely said it myself. But only in the context of doing, and not thinking, right?

I can be completely knocking it out of the park being busy doing stuff, but if my head isn’t similarly engaged, that’s the chink in my armour, right there.

Just another little post-it note to self, to add to my collection. Knowledge is power, right?

 

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But It’s FREE!!!

melon drums

The irony isn’t lost on me, that as we speak I’m sitting in the corner of my kitchen talking to you lot about being on a diet and all the time my psyche is focusing less on what nuggets of wisdom will fall from these fair lips and fingertips this evening, and more on whether there are any naughty things to be had in any of the cupboards behind me. Concentrate!

My broken full-filter has come under scrutiny again this week. I hate to keep banging the same old drum but I’ve had to have a bit of a word with myself – it sort of came about because I bought the new phone. Indirectly, obviously but you know how my mind works. It’s a monster of a phone with a huge screen, which I can actually see…revolutionary, right? Even with reading glasses on, the old one had become a challenge so I really only used it for emergency Facebook stalking and phone calls you know?

This one is different. It’s been welded to my hand since I bought it, and I’m using it for everything. Need help wiping your bum? There’s an app for that! At least, I’m sure there would be if I looked. Anyway having a good look around the app store sort of led me to the Weight Watchers’ app which I’d never really used before, and it’s awesome.

Except my daily points seem to be adding up at warp speed, and it’s not afraid to point out a few home truths you know? Like I might just be eating a bit too much. And that’s my problem with the Weight Watchers diet. When they say you can eat as much of ‘these’ foods as you like, they have no points…well. That’s the law then. It doesn’t matter that my full-filter is broken, because it’s free food, right? Free. No points. I can eat as much as I like, LOOK…the book says I can. So I am.

Except it’s not really free is it? I mean it might be free of Weight Watcher’s smart points, but it’s not free of calories, is it? Or natural sugar. Let’s take honeydew melon as an example…I love that, it’s my favourite fruit. But just because it happens to be a free food on Weight Watchers doesn’t mean I have to eat a whole one. Every day.

It did occur to me on Sunday when I was doing the supermarket shop that seven melons felt a bit excessive, for two people. Especially when only one of them eats melon…uhuh.

When I was using the little battery powered calculator thingamabob I didn’t even enter free stuff into it, I mean what’s the point…there are no points in it so why would it matter. But now I’m tracking on the app I’ve realised how much I’m actually eating. Free stuff, you know but still…in industrial quantities it’s sort of against the spirit of the diet, dammit.

Which might be another reason why my weight-loss appears to have stalled. Yes, the pills and yes the widespread guesstimating of points values didn’t help, but whilst that’s all sorted now, I’m having a bit of an epiphany which seems to point to the fact that I appear to have swapped cheese balls for something else I can eat without boundaries.

Right now, the Asshole voice is screaming BUT IT’S FREE!!! IT’S FREE!!! DON’T STOP EATING IT’S FREE!!! like his pants are on fire. And granted, unlimited melon is better than unlimited hob-nobs. I doubt anyone ever got fat from eating too much melon.

But still.

 

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Trying My Best To Love It

hate it

I wonder how much longer it’s going to be until I can say that I actually enjoy doing a workout on this cross-trainer…any ideas? I’m starting to think I won’t ever get there. I mean it’s been two months now since it moved in and spoiled the feng shui in my bedroom, and I still have to force myself to climb aboard the damn thing and show willing.

If I’m brutally honest its very presence annoys me, and whilst I’m grateful for the effect it’s having in helping me build my fitness from the lowest possible base, I wish I could tuck it away somewhere unobtrusive. I guess that’s the drawback of living in a cottage the size of a shoebox, especially when you have a grown up man-child who shows no inclination of leaving home!

Everyone who knows about these things tells me that I’ll get to the point where I can just go into a zone for hours, without batting an eyelid. I’ve stopped calling it the hurt machine now because the reality is, it doesn’t really hurt that much any more. I no longer climb off feeling like I need hooking up to an iron lung and my legs function normally even after 45 minutes of activity…mind you I haven’t tinkered with the harder settings yet so I’m sure there’s more pain to rediscover at some stage. To be fair it’s not the pain I’m bothered about. It’s the boredom.

I’ve tried listening to music whilst I’m beavering away, and if the music’s not helping me get into my stride it’s planted right in front of a TV , so there’s no shortage of entertainment. I’ve got five hundred channels at my fingertips right there, but I still lose the will to live within the first ten minutes. Pushing through pain became the norm, certainly in the early days and I got quite adept at that but I’m here to tell you that pushing through the boredom is proving a much harder nut to crack.

How is it, that I can be completely gripped by some drama or other when I’m sitting in the armchair doing nothing more strenuous than stroking the dog, and yet the minute I’m strutting my funky stuff and breaking a bead of sweat upstairs in front of the same entertainment menu, nothing holds my interest beyond the first five minutes..? I invariably end up risking life and limb flicking through the channels whilst I’m mid-stride and given the amount of moving parts I know that one of these days it’s not going to end well.

I’m thinking maybe its Asshole driven, you know? Maybe there’s some kind of trip-switch in my head where as soon as the cavernous yoga pants come out and the trainers go on, he sprints from his stool in the corner of my head and flicks the switch to ‘bored’ since pain failed to dent my determination and it’s one of the few options open to him. Hell, he’s probably got KPIs to hit like the rest of us, right?

I know what the experts say, about exercise being like a drug and once it gets you it really gets you. I just don’t get it. And that’s a bit of a bummer. I want to get it. I’ve tried really hard and I swear I’m not going to give up but it would be lovely to stride towards it, even just one time, without wishing I could take a lump hammer to the dratted thing and burn the equivalent amount of calories smashing it to smithereens 🙂

 

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Powered By Mad

scooter

So I appear to have inadvertently discovered the most effective type of fuel yet to galvanise this fat old body into action…the trick seems to be getting really really mad. I mean, like really mad. Having a complete hissy fit and wanting to put someone’s lights out kind of mad.

It all started this morning when I woke up with a sore knee. There’s nothing particularly unusual about that, my knee has been dodgy ever since I dislocated it in the process of shuffling my 300lb body sideways to get into the window seat on a flight a couple of years ago. Yes, that did hurt, a lot.  And it put a crimp in the last few days of what had been a memorable trip around the States with my boy. New York is less fun than it might otherwise be when you’re struggling to walk with your knee in a brace.

Anyway I’m fairly used to the constant toothache in my knee, although to be fair it’s actually getting a little easier now I’m on my way down the scale. What really pushed my buttons this morning was the way that before I’d even had the chance to formulate the thought ouch, and stretch it a bit the Asshole voice was all over it.

Ooohh that doesn’t feel good. It’s all this exercise, obviously bad for you and you should stop, immediately, before your leg is damaged beyond repair. Have a day off today, don’t go near that cross trainer because it’s clearly doing more harm than good. Stay in your armchair,and show yourself a bit of TLC. Tell you what, why don’t you try and limp to the supermarket and get some cheese balls, it’ll be like old times…

At the same time he was chewing my ear I was reading an email from the company who I bought my new bag from just before Christmas, who were responding to my enquiry as to when I might expect to receive it. Given that it passed quality control over a week ago but hasn’t been despatched yet, their sentence inviting me to be patient got right up my nose. The straw that broke the camel’s back..? When I closed my laptop and reached over to the bedside table to pick up my glass of water and instead managed to knock it off and into my slippers. Looking back, it’s funny, but seriously, in that moment I completely lost the plot.

I half stomped and half hobbled across the bedroom and got on that hurt machine, chuntering under my breath the whole time. I didn’t even swing past the bathroom for a quick wee first, and excuse my indelicacy but it seems that a full bladder and a bad attitude is the way to go.

I was so busy telling the Asshole voice where to shove his cheese balls, and how despite his best efforts to sabotage my resolve I had no intention of spending the rest of my days traversing life from the comfort of a fat-friendly mobility scooter, I didn’t even notice the minutes mounting up. My eyes were out on stalks when I realised I’d done nine minutes, and I  immediately thought fuck it, if I can do nine I can do TEN, stick THAT in your pipe and smoke it, Asshole. 

So I did.  No quitters here, right?

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